


Finding You

by SandrockTrinity



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Dark History, Dark Magic, F/F, F/M, FACE Family, Love/Hate, M/M, Multi, Sibling Love, more pairings to be added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-06
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-05-31 15:41:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6476179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SandrockTrinity/pseuds/SandrockTrinity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During the world meeting held in London, England and France find themselves in a spot of bother when two precious people go missing. Wales and Canada have not been seen and a few days late Romano and Prussia have vanished into thin air. Along with the help of other nations, they must all find out who the person who took their family away is, and why they are doing this?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Missing

**Author's Note:**

> Really sorry but cannot write accents in. I am trying my best so please be kind with that regard.  
> A lot of dark history will be mentioned in this story and I do not meant to offend anyone by talking about it.

The blood trickled down his brow, thick and warm. It was not the first time he had experienced a blow to the head and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. The thing that he hated the most, was knowing that he couldn’t stop this from occurring again. He couldn’t stop this from happening again; he had to be the one to take the brunt of the hits. He had lost track of how long he had been stuck in the dark, cold room with the only light being a small, half working bulb that lit up the room from time to time. He would remain silent when there was an enemy near to him, however now he would make little noises of song just to keep the other occupant of the room calm as well.

The head that lay in his lap, the young boy he was trying to save was there, just about alive. For as long as he could, he had to take the hits so that the youth could rest. His lips curled into a smile as hands curled into his tattered shirt. His hand danced through the youths matted hair as he quietly hummed to him. He wasn’t skilled in medicine, nor was he knowledgeable about it. He was use to dealing with sporting wounds, a few bruises and cuts, a concussion, nothing more than that. He was pretty much useless in this experience.

The young boy in his lap began to stir, his eyes opened slowly, his vision most likely blurred from sleep and pain. His light violate eyes gazed up at his guardian, his body numbed by pain and unable to move.

“W-Wales...” His voice croaked. Wales smiled down and the young one and petted his blonde hair,

“It’s alright,” Wales cooed to one of his littlest brothers, “I’m here. Just rest cariad.”

“T-the... M-man...”

Wales hushed him again and caressed his face,

“Don’t worry about it.” Wales was thankful for the darkness of the room and the stupid light bulb, that didn’t work. “We are safe.” Quietly Wales began to sing an old lullaby that he use to sing to his younger brothers when they were small enough to fit into his arms. Soon enough, before the song was even finished, the blonde was once again asleep. Wales looked up at the ceiling and closed his eyes, a prey formed in his head as the lullaby continued to dance off his lips.

“Please God,” his mind preyed, “let them find us”

* * *

His house almost felt too quiet without his big brothers around. Usually in spring they would all be in the mansion they shared, having a break from the politics and work that they all suffered from. But this time, there was no one there, but France and himself; and France was only there because he needed to talk to England because of an important trade agreement between the two. Scotland was off with North and Republic, sorting out some kind of deal that would smooth the industrial problem that Britain was going through at the moment; not that Republic really cared, she would just be there to look out for North. And Wales...

Where was England meant to start with Wales? A week ago Wales was sent to talk to nations in the Common Wealth, last he had reported in he was talking to Canada. However after a few days when England had not gotten a call from Wales or Canada, he had contacted them himself out of worry (not that he would admit that). There had been no answer, but there was also no time to waste, he had a world meeting to attend to in his capital. From the moment he had set foot in the place he had been pulled away by different nations, first Spain, then Germany, then Italy and finally France. At first he had brushed off the first three and their questions about other nations who had not shown up yet, claiming that it was not his priority. But when France had finally called him over, no mocking tones or horrible insults that they usually shared with each other. Instead he had been rather quiet and insisted that they speak somewhere private. That was when England found out that Canada and Wales had both been reported missing by Canada’s boss. England had paled significantly at the information, two of his most precious brothers were missing.

England had managed to wrap up the meeting quicker than anyone had ever thought possible. England and France did not fight with each other, nor did America pick a fight with the older nations. Scotland and Republic were kept at bay by France somehow, which England would have to thank him for later. Within moments of England closing the meeting, France and Scotland had both left, understanding the urgency to finish the meeting. North had quietly followed England, asking question about where Wales was, and why he couldn’t make it to the meeting. No one had even seemed to notice the missing nations, which made things easier for England.

 

All had been fine until France and himself sat in the living room alone with nothing to do. Until that point everything had been so urgent, but now they both seemed at a loss. Sitting on the sofa, a blanket around his shoulders England thought about his big brother who wasn’t at his side. Wales and England had been together for so long that it was strange to not have him around sometimes. If England was honest he didn’t like it that much, usually they’d be together curled up on the sofa, watching movies or even reading and creating fantasy stories together. England felt the emptiness inside of himself and hated it. 

France had watching his friend from the moment he entered the room, the way his shoulders slumped and his head focusing on his feet; France knew what the signs meant, England was worried. As he sat down on the chair opposite England he noticed the vase of daffodils that where beginning to bloom. Had England placed them there? It couldn’t have been Wales’ doing since he had been away and the flowers too fresh. Looking back to his friend he saw the blank stare on the smaller mans face. They were both suffering.

“Mon ami,” France’s voice drew England out of thought. He sat on the other side of the coffee table his hair pulled back in a messy pony tale, his shirt unbuttoned and his tie around his neck looking like a scarf. “Gallois will be alright, he has not lived so long to die without making some kind of noise.” 

A chuckle escaped England’s lips, that was an understatement. Wales never fell without a fight, but also he never went anywhere without you knowing. He was loud at the best of times, full of laughter and excitement, it was no wonder why everyone seemed to like Wales; and then there was the singing... Wales sang everywhere, even when doing work. The amount of times England had kicked Wales out of the office because of his singing was too many to count.

“I completely agree,” England nodded and looked away, “I’m sure he’s singing right now and begging Canada to join in. Those two got on like a house on fire.”

“Oui, always laughing and singing, those two,” France nodded.

* * *

_“Papa! Papa!”_

_Looking up from the small flowers growing in the garden, France saw a little Canada running up to him. A bright smile on his face, giggling all the way with his bear in his arms. With a bright smile France extended his arms as his little boy jumped into his arms and hugged him._

_“Ma petite étoile,” France smiled as his arms wrapped tightly around his little boy, “What are you doing here? I thought you were playing with Gallois?”_

_Along the path came Wales, an old friend of France’s smiling away as usual. He gave an apologetic look as France stood up with little Canada in his arms._

_“Sorry,”Wales spoke softly as he stopped a little away from the two nations. “He wanted to come and see you. He knows to well I can’t resist him when he wants something.” Canada giggled in France’s arms and hid his face into his Papa’s neck._

_“Oui, of course he is far to cute,” France smiled and petted his little boys hair. Wales smiled at them before giving a little bow of his head._

_“I must go,” he smiled sweetly as Canada poked his head out from hiding. Wales caressed his cheek, “be good for Papa and I’ll come and see you soon. I can teach you more stories about Merlin.” Canada giggled and nodded,_

_“Oui, merci.”_

* * *

France stood in the kitchen making something quick to eat when the door to the kitchen opened. Expecting it to be England he did not turn around immediately and continued his work. Arms wrapped around his waist and the colour red flashed in the corner of his eye making him aware of his lover’s presence.

“Bonsoir,” He smiled and stopped stirring the broth he was making. “How was the meeting?”

“Long,” was whispered into his neck before a kiss was placed on his cheek. “How have ya been?”

French smiled and turned to his lover who’s sharp green eyes bore into him. Those eyes that knew him so well that he could not lie.

“I have been better mon amour,” he answered honestly. A hand traced circles on his hip as the other held him tightly, “it is difficult knowing your child is lost.”

“Aye,” Scotland replied softly, “Mattie will be fine, he knows how to take care of himself. Plus Dylan is with him. Dylan will die before anyone hurts his family.”

“That is what worries me,” France turned away. He was ashamed at how weak he was being, and especially in front of Scotland who had always cared for him and seen him as a strong pillar to star upon. But France couldn’t hide the worry for his little boy, it was his boy. Non of the other nations understood his love for a country that for so long had not been his. “What if Mathieu is not with Dylan? What if he is alone and hurt?”  
”You can nae be thinking like that,” Scotland answered and his grip on France tightened. “He is safe Francis. You know he is. Dylan would kill anyone who touches him.”

“Oui, but Alistor you must understand why I worry.”

“I do.” 

* * *

_“Dylan,” England called out as the dust and smoke began to settle and the echoes of bombs still wrang in his ears. Soldiers on both sides of him coughed and cried in pain from the sudden attack from German forces. England looked in front of him to where he had last seen his brother standing, but he could not see through the dust and smoke that did not wish to settle. They had to continue pushing forward, they had continue moving on, but he could not to that if he did not know where his soldiers were. Looking over his shoulder he saw his brother Scotland tending to the injured soldier that lay around them, calling them to stay down. Turning back, England took a deep breath before slowly moving forward away from his men and into the waste land. England could have sworn that he could hear his brother calling him back, but he could not do that, he had to make sure his other brother was not dead._

_“Dylan?” England called quietly into the dust. The sound of footsteps drew closer to him and he could have sworn he saw a shadow appearing out of the mist. However it was not the shadow he had expected and he faced came face to face with a gun in the hands of his enemy. England could not fight, nor could he risk revealing the position of his men to Germany._

_“Haven’t you learned by now that if is over for you?” Germany’s cold eyes pierced through the mist at England as the smaller nation rose his hands in defeat. “If I had known capturing your would have been this easy, I would have done it sooner.” England’s eyes did not focus on Germany as the younger nation taunted him, instead his eyes searched the area for signs of his bother. His eyes could not focus enough through the smoke to see. A click of a gun drew England’s attention back to Germany. Behind the blonde stood a young man, hi brother, pointing a pistol to the back of Germany’s neck. It was a strange angle to see, considering how short Wales was, even compared to England, facing up against a tall nation such as Germany._

_“Drop it,” Wales called from behind him, his hand slightly shaking as it held the gun. His eyes dark and as fierce as that dragon he always spoke to. “Touch my brother and you will have me to answer to Germany.”_

_With a grunt Germany lowered the weapon and dropped it to the floor at his feet before raising his arms in surrender. Wales slowly walked around Germany, never turning his back as he moved himself quickly between the two blondes. With his free hand he pushed England further back towards his men, while slowly taking a few steps away from the enemy._

_“I’m not one for shooting, especially not a nation,” Wales commented as he now stood 10 feet away. “But next time Germany, I won’t let you off so easily. Hurt my brother and I will make you pay.” England held on to Wales’ free arm and pulled the two away into the smoke, once out of sight and no sound but their breathing could be heard England embraced his older brother. “I’m always here for you,” Wales whispered into his ear as his own arms wrapped around his little brother._

* * *

England sat quietly on his bed, the light of the moon peeking through the curtains that didn’t actually fit the window. In front of him sat a book that he could no longer read to himself. The bed was far too big for him on his own, usually he shared it with Wales but not tonight. The sound of the wind patting against the window gave him some comfort, but not enough to stop the hollow feeling in his chest. Quietly he listened to for a voice he knew would not be there, the only voice he could hear was that of France and Scotland downstairs quietly attempting a private conversation. The house was to old and used for any room to be private from sound, all the nations who stayed there learned that quickly. Looking out of the window England pondered on what might have happened, how it could have happened, and if others were in this situation as well? Only time would tell him, and England hoped that he had a little more time than he thought he did.

 

 


	2. Dragons, war and food

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scotland's mind won't stop wondering about why his little brothers have been taken. But at the same time he is plagued with night terrors of losing the one he loves.

Scotland sighed as he lowered his glass on to the small side table next to the sofa, one glass of whiskey had not been enough for him tonight. France was resting his head in Scotland's lap, the two had been watching the News before the blonde had began to fall asleep. Now Scotland was left in the living room with the TV quietly playing, his hand combing France's hair and left to think about the news that had happened. It seemed strange for the both of them to have gone missing. In some respect, taking Canada made sense, he was a large player in the political field, even with his invisibility; but what about Wales? He doesn't play any part politically or even financially, taking him would seem like a mistake. Still, Wales is a big player in Britain now, possibly taking could be a way to cause trouble in Britain. What annoyed Scotland the most was not that they were missing, not that someone was behind it, but that someone thought that they could get away with hurting his family.  
"Mon amour," France whispered softly and holds Scotland's hand that had been combing his hair. He smile up at his red haired lover as his thumb caressed the back of his hand. "I can hear you thinking," he teased. Scotland chuckled a little, before running a hand through his hair.  
"Sorry," Scotland answered turning away from France and continuing to watching the TV. France squeezed his hand and sat up on the sofa. He placed a kiss on Scotland's cheek then one just under his ear, small whispers graced his ears and hands began to roam over his chest and arms. Turning his head their lips caught each other, but the moment was haunted by the sound of a smashing vase somewhere in the house. The two jumped apart at the noise and were quick to their feet. Scotland listened quietly to his surroundings, there was the creaking of floorboards upstairs, was England awake?  
"Stay here," Scotland said and walked towards the stairs. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs and listened for more noise. There was some noise from the far end of the bedroom corridor. Taking the stairs two at a time Scotland walked quietly down the corridor to England's room, however England was not in his room and the door was open. Nothing seemed out of place apart from the quilt being messed up. Maybe England had been the one who made the noise, but where was he? The bathroom was down stairs and his bedroom was closest to the stairs, he didn't need to go down the hallway. Moving on Scotland found his own room to be locked, along with North's. The last room was Wales' which was slightly ajar.  
"Stop flapping you bloody thing."  
Scotland frowned and pushed open Wales door. There was very little there, a small bed, a desk, a few bookshelves and in the centre of the room was smashed vase. Next to the window he could see England trying to hold something down. On closer inspection Scotland noticed it was Wales' little red dragon that usually punched on his shoulder. Scotland had't seen the dragon at all while he had been in the house, usually it followed Wales around and he had assumed that it had gone with him.  
"Arthur," Scotland called out stopping both England and the dragon in their mini fight with each other. "Why are you holding Dewi?" Scotland walked into the room, avoiding the mess on the floor.  
"Heard a noise in here so came to check it out," England yelped as Dewi nipped at his hand, letting the dragon free to fly from his hands and to the desk on the other side of the room. "Little Bastard knocked over the vase with the Daffodils in." Dewi gave a little screech at England before curling up to watch the two interact.  
"Dylan usually takes Dewi everywhere," Scotland commented as he walked over to England. He rolled his eyes at the little mark on his hand before looking up at the dragon, "wonder why he didn't take him?" England walked assed Scotland and knelt down by the broken vase. Carefully he picked up the disturbed flowers one by one and placed them carefully on the bedside table. Scotland walked to the door, satisfied with what he had found the cause of the noise. Scotland watched out of the corner of his eye as England removed one of the Daffodils from the neat pile and held it in his hand. For all England's gruff attitude and his lacking ability to show emotion, he did truly care for Wales. Wales and England had been together for so long, and had worked together so willingly that sometimes it seemed as if they were soul mates. True the two fought even more than France and England did, but it was always subtle and away from public view. Scotland had been one of very few nations to see England being tender with Wales, even when they fought England as his personal self was always gentle with Wales. That's probably why the elder sibling liked to push his limits, his punishment for disobeying or doing something wrong was never as harsh as it had been for Scotland, North or Republic of Ireland. England just stared at the flower for a moment, he twirled it in his hands before looking back at the dragon perched up high. Scotland shook his head and left the room returning to France who sat on the edge of the sofa. He didn't look up until Scotland sat next to him.  
"England knocked over a vase," Scotland explained. He didn't bother telling the truth about the little dragon, no doubt France wouldn't believe him. It was a shame really that he couldn't see creatures like Scotland and his brothers could, but at the same time it was nice. It meant that he could use his fairies and little creatures to look out for France, without him even needing to be there. Many times he had used it when he couldn't be around.

* * *

 

Scotland's dreams were plagued that night with worry.

Standing on the shore line on such a muggy day was something Scotland hated, he hated it even more that he knew that himself, his brothers and France had been stranded there. Germany and Prussia had surrounded them, with no way out. Looking around at his allies and men he saw something but sorrow and devastation. Everyone was scattered on the beach, so much so that it was becoming difficult to see which army each man belonged to.  
Sitting on a rock next to him was France, exhausted and tired from all the fighting. His body had only just recovered from the last war and it seemed that his injuries were even worse than the last time. Scotland knew about the scare that scraped from his left shoulder and down to his lower spin, it had been ugly and cause France a lot of pain. Looking at his lover, he saw the little scratch across his cheek which had been from fighting his old friend Prussia only a couple of days ago. It could have been worse, if not for himself and little Canada showing up to help get France out of there in time. France's eyes were closed and he was leaning on Scotland's shoulder. His breath was harsh and his hands were shaking on his lap, whether from cold or exhaustion he did not know.  
Just a little away from them sat Canada and Wales inspecting their weapons. Many soldiers had talked about this being the final fight in the Battle for France, and both little nations were prepared to fight their hardest against the German forces. Quietly he watched them, listening to specks of their conversation, but more concerned with his last cigarette.  
"It's been too quiet," Canada almost whispers as he re assembles his gun. Canada's voice was far softer than Scotland ever remembered it being, which contrasted to his fighting style. Canada gave a quick look at France and Scotland before turning back to Wales. "The Germans have been quiet for two days... Surely they can't be that slow now?"  
"They're toying with us," Wales said as he returned his gun to his belt. "It took us two days for us all to assemble here and that was with very little rest. The Germans are efficient, if we don't find a way off this beach by tomorrow morning, we will be defeated."   
Scotland had to agree with Wales, they needed to be off the beach today. He knew how impossible it was, and he had attempted to keep his moral up, especially as England had attempted to call for support from home yesterday. However, everything was turning pointless and there seemed to be no point in hoping for much longer. Last night, himself and France had stayed up and listened to the RAF fly over head to help stop the Germans from advancing on them too quickly, however from what England had commented about an hour ago, they had taken far too many casualties and were unable to do much to aid them. They're only chance of escape now, was by sea.  
France began to stir next to Scotland. He seemed sluggish, and not just from sleep, the war was affecting him far worse that the British nations were. Germany had almost completely conquered France without much resistance from Britain or France. They had underestimated Germany, this was not the same young man they had fought 30 years ago. France's hand was cold against Scotland's own, too cold for Scotland. He tangled their fingers together and wished his body heat to the other nation.   
"There are just lines..." France whispered, "Thousands and thousands of men, waiting to be evacuated..." France's voice sounded harsh, yet there was a side of petty to it. Scotland looked down at him, watching as the little wind caressed through his matted hair. "I wouldn't have blamed those men for running..." France closed his eyes and nuzzled his head into Scotland's shoulder. "I wish I could run too..." France had bee referring to one of the British platoons that had arrived just after themselves. A few of the men after reaching the top of the sand dunes had began to run upon seeing the long line of those to be evacuated. France and Scotland had watched as their platoon leader pulled out his revolver and pointed it at his men, claiming that if any broke rank, they would be shot by him. France had almost felt sick watching it, none of those men wanted to be there, and he understood that those men didn't want to be there, but surely there must have been a better way to deal with them.  
"18 days..." Scotland hears Wales mutter. "18 days is all the great Allies could do..." The hate and disappointment in Wales' voice confirmed everything that everyone thought about the war, he had attempted to advocate peace, something everyone had called him a fool for. Now Scotland had began to wish that he had supported his little brother on that front. Wales was watching the lines of men along the beach and not too far away was England striding up the beach, his pants still looking soaked from the last tide that came in. England called out to them,  
"Tide is turning!" He paused as a soldier handed him a report before continuing towards his family. "Keep your matches and cigarettes in your helmets." There was a groan from Wales and France, when the tide came in it left all of the soldiers with water up to their necks, if they were lucky. They had been on the beach for so long that the tide had already come in twice, and now there was a third time.  
"They are coming..." England said as he stopped by Canada and Wales. Everyone's eyes turned to him,"the boats are a few minutes away. We don't have time to lie about." England looked up at France and Scotland, the two brothers shared a look before the blondes sight turned back to the two in front of him. "Canada stay next to Wales. Don't loose each other. You two are going first."

In the next hour everything seemed to blur for Scotland. He remembered being knee deep in water with France leaning on him. The water was cold but the weather had turned warm. Men were packing onto the little boats, waiting to be taken to the larger boats just off shore from them. The sound of bombing plains above roared in his ears. Water splashed around him, the screams of men as they hurled around him, the sound of guns firing made him feel weak. His heart was dropping deeper and deeper, until it felt like it was drowning in water. Further ahead he saw as bodies, dead or alive floated near the boats. He would be one of the last to leave the shore, along with France at his side. Wales and Canada had been shipped out long ago, and as the bombing began he had lost sight of England. Now all he had to do was get to a boat with France.   
He managed to get himself and France on to a small rowing boat, one of the very last ones to leave the shore. He held on to France tightly as the other nation dipped in and out on consciousness. He called out to him, slapped his face and asked him to respond back, but he could only get a weak smile in response, and muttering of pain.  
"Look out!" A man screamed as three bombs landed around them, all missing their target and getting the soldiers wetter than they already were. Scotland pulled France tighter to him as he felt the shock wave from the water. Looking up he saw the planes circle around for another lap, but he drew his eyes away to France.  
"Stay with me," he whispered to France.  
"Oui," France muttered in pain. "I am, mon amour." Scotland lowered his forehead to Frances', hoping he could give him more heat. But Scotland could not, for the next thing he knew, he was in the water once more. His lungs burning from the sea water in it. He spluttered and coughed as the waters attempted to swallow him up. Looking around franticly he looked for the nation that he had been holding for the past few hours.  
"Francis! Francis!" He screamed through the burning pain. His arms were weak and would not last long, his legs felt heavy from all the walking and running he had done.  
"Alister!" A voice called out to him from one of the near by boats. Looking up he saw England calling to him, his boat only slightly full, with the last remaining soldiers. Scotland's head felt blurry and he could not think straight. His mind told him to rush to England and grab his outstretched hand, but his heart was screaming and forcing his eyes to search for a blonde haired man that he loved so much.  
"Alister!" He heard England scream as he felt multiple arms reach out and pull him into the boat. He coughed and heaved as the heavy salt water escaped his lungs. England was next to him, asking him questions, but for the life of him, Scotland did not know what words England had uttered that day. His mind was racing, his France... His Francis, was not there...

* * *

 

England sat in the garden sipping at his tea watching the sun rise. He had not been able to sleep very well that night, and instead of tossing and turning like he usually would until he finally fell back to sleep, he decided to get up and watch the sunset. As he had left the house, Wales' little dragon Dewi had followed him out the door. Carefully England had kept an eye on Dewi, knowing Wales would kill him if the little dragon got hurt. It sniffed at the air and flittered around the garden in search of something. It checked the flower beds, then the little shed at the back of the garden, then returned to the bench which England sat at. It rested on the arm rest furthest from England, he sniffed at England and watched him. Attempting to ignore him had been England's plan, but after a few minutes he became annoyed and turned to the dragon,  
"What?" He asked still not quite awake. "Planning on biting me again?" England sipped at his tea and slowly the dragon hopped off the arm and crept to England. England watched the dragon carefully incase it decided to bite him again. It sniffed at his lap before, climbing on his lap, his claws digging into England's legs. England winced a little but let the little dragon climb onto his lap and curl up. It had not been England's first experience with dragons, but it was very unlike Dewi to take a shine to him, usually he would curl around Scotland's shoulders if Wales wasn't around.  
England sat quietly for a moment and took another sip at his tea, when he noticed the kitchen door opened. France's walked out into the garden almost not noticing England at first. France looked pale from tiredness and England curiously wondered why the nation was up so early and whether his brother was up early too. France gave England a nod but did not approach him. England noticed a red mark on France's cheek and the shininess of his eyes.  
"Night terrors?" England asked, retuning his gaze to the sun rise.  
"Oui," France answered shuffling from foot to foot. "I suppose I should prepare breakfast." Quietly he turned on his heel and walked back in to the kitchen. A few times England had been on the receiving end of his brothers night terrors, mainly North or Wales' ones, very rarely had he ever had first hand experience of Scotland's. His eldest brother didn't tend to like anyone see him have them. England gave a little sigh and petted the dragon on his lap, which gave a sound resembling a purr.   
Once more the back door opened, letting the smell of cooking escape the confinement of the old house. England had to admit, that for all his faults, France was still a good cook. Out walked Scotland this time and he walked over to England with a purpose. England didn't look up at his brother, instead he focused on the almost complete sunrise.  
"Are ya going to mention anything in the meeting today?" Scotland asked in a gruff voice.  
"Mention what?" England answered as he finished off his tea.  
"About Wales and Canada," Scotland clarified folding his arms across his chest. "People will notice ta notice them gone."  
"They wouldn't help," England replied and placed his cup next to him. "They don't care about anything apart from the meeting."  
"They would if all of us mentioned it with concern. Canada and Wales are liked by a few nations who could help us. We're not alone England."

* * *

 

"Listen to me, whatever happens you need to stay here ok?" Wales whispered quietly through the darkness. His eyes sympathetic as he looked over the injured Canada, the poor thing needed a lot of rest. He gives a small nod to Wales and curls in on himself. Wales had managed to get them out of their cell, but had not gotten far. He had managed to get Canada into the ventilation ducts which would keep them safe until they could make a plan of what to do next. Wales wasn't as good as England at escaping, he had learnt a few things but not enough for this situation. Wales smiled at the younger nation before leaving him alone to search the empty kitchen for some food. Although they did not need food or sleep like humans did, it did help them with healing quicker and that's what Canada needed now. The kitchen was completely empty and had a lot of food that he could acquire for his little brother to recover with. But he would have to be quick, and he would have to be silent. Two things he wasn't exactly known for.   
Everything had gone fine, until a small sound caught Wales' attention at the far end of the room. He had ducked under one of the tables to hide himself from the person that made the sound. He heard talking begin to come closer to him, he closed his eyes and preyed that God would keep him safe. He didn't know the language being spoken by the two voices, but he knew enough to understand that he was in danger. What should he do? Should he remain? It wouldn't be too long before someone noticed him. Or should he run? Then he would be noticed, but he would have to knock them out to make this an effective escape. What was he to do?

 

**Author's Note:**

> There will not be any chapters added until the end of May due to my work load with University and my Job so please be patient :D


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